The hallway was drowned in silence. Not a whisper echoed through its long, shadow-drenched corridor. No torches, no moonlight—just an overwhelming blackness that swallowed everything whole. Kaemor stepped forward through the gloom, his heavy boots pressing against the stone floor with quiet resolve. Draped over his shoulders, limp and bloodied, was Chiaki—unconscious and defeated, her breath shallow, her strength gone.
He didn't look down at her. There was no pity, no satisfaction. Just purpose.
At the end of the hall stood the one waiting for her—Rhaziel. The man who wore power like a second skin. The one whose very presence could unmake a soul, strip it bare, and leave behind a husk incapable of knowing life or death. What he wielded wasn't just strength—it was erasure. A punishment worse than any death.
And now, Kaemor stood face to face with him.
There were a few others beside Rhaziel, loyal crewmates with eyes full of purpose. Not like Morvain—fractured, fading, and forgotten. These ones… were real. Unshaken. Dangerous.
Kaemor didn't say a word. With one final step, he lowered Chiaki's body to the ground like dead weight, letting her fall with a soft, lifeless thud onto the cold floor. Her figure remained still, her breaths barely audible. A body caught between exhaustion and obliteration.
Rhaziel's gaze didn't shift from her.
He took a single step forward, then another—until he stood above her like a shadow ready to consume the last flicker of light. A faint smile touched his lips as he crouched, resting his hand under his chin to study her more closely.
"Well," he murmured, voice smooth and collected, "this is a surprise, Kaemor. I didn't expect such a gift today."
He tilted his head, eyes scanning every trace of damage on Chiaki's worn body.
"Alive, too… Impressive," he added, standing tall once more. "A delivery worthy of recognition. You've done more than I asked for."
He gave a slow, deliberate clap—each beat of his hands echoing ominously through the chamber.
"A flawless performance. Truly… well done."
Kaemor's breath rasped steadily through the filter of his mask—sharp, steady, controlled. There was no celebration in his posture, no pride in his tone. He didn't need it. His actions spoke enough. Among all the chaos that plagued Lyvoria Crest, only he had succeeded. He had not only found the target but subdued and delivered her alive. That alone elevated him above the rest—an unwavering force among scattered chaos.
"I suppose there's no need for my hands to get any bloodier than they already are," he muttered, exhaling beneath the thick hum of silence. "I'd call this a clean success. Nothing more, nothing less."
Without looking back, Kaemor gave a crisp command.
"Prepare the chamber. We begin the soul severance immediately. No further evaluation necessary. She's already been brought to her knees. There's no 'mystery strength' to uncover—not with how easily she fell. Isolene, at least, took a few limbs before we brought her down. This one? She's more bark than bite."
One of the cloaked men silently obeyed, hoisting Chiaki's limp body onto his back. Her head dangled as they vanished through a steel door deeper into the compound, heading toward the sanctum where Rhaziel's rituals took place.
But just as the door sealed shut behind them, a voice broke the low murmur of the chamber—a whisper, subtle and nervous.
"...To think Rhaziel took over the Soul Severance division this quickly. Just like that. No struggle. No resistance." The man stood near the wall, eyes narrowed beneath the rim of his hood. His words trembled with unease. "Our former commander… He had decades of experience. Soul-forged armor. Years of research. And Rhaziel erased him in a breath. Like the man never even existed."
Another man shifted uncomfortably beside him, his voice equally hushed. "That's the nature of Rhaziel's power, isn't it? It doesn't kill—it removes. Like cutting a thread from fate's tapestry. The ones he severs… it's not just their soul. It's their place. Their identity. You forget they ever lived unless you try to remember. Even memories feel… blurred."
"Do you think that's what he plans for her?" the first whispered again. "To turn her into another hollow fragment? Another erased soul scattered to the void?"
No answer came. Just silence.
Then one of them spoke—quieter than before.
"Rhaziel didn't just take command. He made the Soul Severance team his. We're not researchers anymore. We're weapons. Ritualists. Reapers in waiting. All of us... just waiting to find out if he'll use us next."
From the far side of the room, Kaemor's voice drifted back—calm, yet cold.
"Speak less. Think less. We're not here to question his methods. We're here to execute them."
And with that, the silence returned once again, thick and suffocating.
Because deep down… none of them were sure whose soul would be severed next.
Rhaziel strode into the main chamber where the council of hunters gathered, his presence immediately commanding the room. He moved with the unwavering certainty of a seasoned warrior—a leader whose very aura inspired fear, even among his closest allies. His eyes didn't linger on anyone; instead, his gaze pierced forward, as if scanning unseen enemies beyond the walls.
Each step he took echoed like a slow, deliberate drumbeat—soft at first, then swelling into a resounding thunder that filled the tense silence. The rhythm seemed almost ritualistic, a march heralding the arrival of something both inevitable and terrifying.
The men watched him in hushed awe, their eyes flickering with a mixture of reverence and dread. To them, Rhaziel was no mere commander; he was a predator born to claim victory. Whispered rumors trailed behind him like shadows: tales of foes reduced to nothing but flickers of memory, entire squads erased without a trace, and a cold, ruthless efficiency that left no room for mercy.
"Is it true he can sever a soul with just a glance?" some muttered, voices barely audible.
"Did you hear how the old leader vanished after defying him? Not killed—just… gone."
Kaemor, however, remained unmoved by the spectacle. He had walked in Rhaziel's shadow for long enough to know better than to show awe or fear. As the bearer of their latest success, Kaemor carried himself with quiet confidence—silent, focused, and utterly loyal. He neither sought approval nor offered praise, only the steady resolve of one who understood the cost of power.
The room held its breath, caught between the whispered questions and the weight of Rhaziel's unyielding presence—a storm waiting to be unleashed.
Soon, it happened. Rhaziel, their leader, passed through the heavy gate, followed closely by Kaemor—the one who had taken Chiaki. The door creaked softly as it closed behind them, sealing the room from the outside world.
Inside, the chamber was void of any presence except those bound to Rhaziel's command and will. To them, he was the undisputed authority—the true power—not the empress who ruled from the heart of the city.
In truth, Rhaziel embodied everything.
To be continued...